Returning the Favor
by Lady-Liar
Summary: A year after the war's end, Zuko and Katara are forced to trek across the Earth Kingdom in search of relief from a spirit's curse, and a deeper understanding of their own entwined fates.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters on Avatar: The Last Airbender – I am simply playing with them. I make no money from this.

**Au Note: **Iroh is Fire Lord instead of Zuko.

* * *

Katara's footsteps were resounding in the empty corridor – but not so loud that she slowed her steps to that of a lady's. She was a warrior of the Fire Lord himself: that status gave her every right to walk as a man would.

"Your footsteps are deafening; practically vulgar," a voice said. Katara turned to look, already knowing who spoke. Zuko, leaning his shoulder against the wall, stared at her. "Is there something the matter?"

She wanted to hit him. Not to seriously injure – just to get away without hearing another word from his cocky voice. As the Prince – and without even the smallest threat of the revocation of that title – Zuko had fallen back into his old attitude. In the Palace, at least. Outside, he was the friend she knew and loved as she loved her own brother. But here, they were enemies of a sort, and they both fell into the practice the moment the Palace doors slammed shut behind them. "No," she said, turning and walking away from him.

He wasn't so easily deterred. "Are you going to ask my Uncle for another assignment?"

Katara sighed, but didn't answer. To say yes would be truthful, but would bring on a torrent of ridicule. And she would not lie to him. It is the one thing Zuko would not forgive – even after they were away from the walls that sent him spiraling away from himself.

So, rather than risk it, she jogged away, her feet light and easy. She acted as a lady – lifting her silk skirts and loping almost silently. But her face was the mask of a man's. She was angry, and wanted nothing more than to escape. Zuko yelled something after her, but she didn't hear him – didn't _want_ to hear him.

When she reached the gold-plated door to the dining hall, Katara paused. There were two men in full armor guarding the doors, but they didn't look at her. Catching her breath, she pushed the doors open, and stormed inside.

"If I have to –!" she started, but stopped. Iroh was not alone. In fact, he was the furthest from alone as she had seen him in a long time. He did not often invite company into his private dining room – Katara was surprised to find every available seat filled with a thick, wobbly body. Nobles, she thought, bowing at the waist. A woman gasped, and she remembered. _Not a man_. She almost ducked out past the guards, possibly thwacking one for not warning her. Their silent laughter was nearly tangible behind her.

"I'm sorry, my Lord," she said, staying low. She went down onto one knee, thinking that it was – possibly – better than standing like a warrior. She was a woman, and few knew of her actual status in the Palace. Especially not the air-headed nobles that forced themselves upon Iroh in such an unworthy manner. "I did not realize you had company."

When she looked up, Iroh was scowling. Not at her, but at the men and women crowded around him. He wiggled his fingers so she would come to him. Pulling her closer with a hand wrapped around her wrist, he whispered into her ear. "Trust me, child, this was not my idea. If I could get rid of them, I would. And I will within the hour. Can you return then?"

Katara nodded, but did not speak. Many of the women around the table were staring, gossip already sparkling in their eyes.

"Do not fear, Katara," he said; "I have an assignment for you and my Nephew. Bring him with you, if you could."

Again, she nodded, before pulling away. Patting his shoulder, she excused herself with a little curtsy to Iroh and the table as a whole. Several men stood, feeling, she thought, their inferiority to her.

Leaving the room, Katara returned to her quarters. Inside, the walls were painted red, and the furniture was bare and blank. She rarely unpacked her bags inside the Palace. If she did, it was only to create the appearance of stability to visiting family. Like Sokka or her father, though she believed Sokka knew her restlessness within the cage-like walls of the Palace; he never stayed for long.

Zuko didn't bother her again while she lay on her bed and counted the stars that she had painted the day she was given the room on the ceiling above. There were seventy-four of them – the same age as her Gran had been. Every year she would add another before she went to the South Pole to visit. It would be a few more months.

She had been in the Palace for nearly a year – though most of it was spent travelling great distances to fulfill any of Iroh's orders. She was to protect a village here, and fetch an orphan child there. Zuko always by her side.

Iroh did not send them together for any reason besides one – and it was one that she understood and agreed with. When she and Zuko were together, they did not make the same number of rash decisions. They argued through the kinks in their plans, and fought until the idea was perfect. They were never afraid to point out a flaw or an opening for an enemy. It could be painful, but they were honest, and they trusted one another with their lives. Iroh trusted that, together, they would always return to him.

An hour later, Katara stood and left the room, uncaring that the back of her gown was wrinkled like the waves on a windy sea. Zuko was sitting on the floor outside, and looked at her when she came out. "Iroh wants to us both," she said; "We have a new assignment."

Zuko nodded and stood. They walked in silence, side-by-side, back down to the dining room. Katara didn't question his quietness. She hoped he chose silence out of kindness, though she doubted it. There was an ulterior motive – or a cruel thought. One that, she thought, she didn't want to know.

Iroh was alone when Katara pushed the doors open a second time that morning. His face was red, and the plates that had once been surrounded in men and women were still covered in food, as if they had left in a hurry. "What did you do?" Zuko asked, poking a half-eaten chicken leg. "Make the guards escort them out?"

Katara raised an eyebrow and Iroh glared at him. Iroh didn't like Zuko's attitude-change any more than she did. But the glare vanished quickly, and he rubbed at his temples. "Nearly," he said; "I'll be feeling the wrath of this morning for a long time."

Moving toward him, Katara leaned against his shoulder. She didn't speak any consoling words, because she didn't honestly care. She didn't like his discomfort, but she wanted to know her next assignment. She couldn't stay in the Palace for another entire day. It had been so long – they'd been sitting around for two weeks without a single word. Even Zuko was becoming anxious.

Iroh stood and began piling the plates. The servants would arrive in a few minutes, after Iroh had calmed some. But, before they could, he would do some of the work. He always did. "I know my political problems bore you," he said, smiling at Katara; "You've come for your next assignment."

Reaching into his robe pocket, Iroh pulled out two scrolls. It was regular protocol. The walls had ears in this palace – usually they were servants' ears, but occasionally nobles, guards, or officials would hear their conversations. And those were not the people one wanted to share their secrets with. "No questions asked," he said, and turned away from them. He went into the kitchen, disappearing from sight.

Zuko unrolled his. "We leave at dusk," he said, before rerolling it, shoving it into his robe, and following behind Iroh. Katara wouldn't open hers until they were safely travelling. She was a woman, and if anyone knew Iroh sent her off to fight where trained soldiers could not, there would be an uprising.

Katara was ready hours before the boat was set to leave, so when it finally lowered the gangplank, she was half-way up it before she remembered to say farewell to her Fire Lord; her friend; her uncle.

Wrapping her arms around him, she whispered; "I love you, Uncle. I promise we will return safely."

"Do not make a promise you can not control the outcome of, my dear," he said, squeezing her tightly. "But I will still hold you to it. Return to me, and I will be here."

With those words as their goodbye, Katara jogged up the plank and across the deck. She dropped her things in the tiny, bunk-stuffed room and grunted with happiness. She was finally leaving the Fire Nation capital. After two weeks – one of their longer stays – she was off. Toward what, she didn't know. She patted her belt, where she held the scroll and her water pouch. Both were still readily available. Nothing stolen on the dangerous docks. Good.

The bunk room that Katara would sleep in was little comfort on the rocking ship – she felt imprisoned, though she knew escape was quick and easy for her. If they sunk, she would be the only survivor. Her bending would save her – the water would bring her to shore, and would leave her with only guilt and sadness as company forever.

So, rather than lay on her bed with worry and fear as her secret companions, she escaped to the quietest part of the deck. Behind the captain's platform, where no windows looked out upon her, and very few others frequented, she lay down on the cold metal.

Iroh's scroll bumped against her hip, reminding her of the duty that left her in such a compromising state. She pulled it away, and held it up against the sunlight. It was small – smaller than usual. Few words would be scrawled inside, and Katara was sure Zuko had already spoken most of them.

Sighing, she unrolled it, and read:

_On Jang Hui island, a boy-child is dying. Save him._

_- Fire Lord Iroh_

There was a little surprise in this message. Iroh had sent them on missions like this before – but more information usually accompanied it. A name; a description of the village or family; sometimes even the name of the sickness, and how to cure it. But never had he sent them somewhere so blind. She didn't so much as know the age of the child – was he a baby, or a teenager? Was he dying of a bodily injury; a burn, perhaps; or of something internal, that Katara couldn't likely heal?

Questions pounded at Katara's mind as she rerolled the scroll and returned it to her belt loop. The idea of asking Zuko was impossible – they had long since learned that they received nearly the same letters. He wouldn't have any more knowledge than she did.

Katara laid there until her jittery limbs forced her to stand and move. She returned to her bunkroom, unsure of what else she could possibly do.

Zuko came to her doorway as he passed by toward his own bunkroom. "The captain says it will be three days before we reach Jang Hui. Get some rest."

"Zuko!" Katara called, as he turned away toward his room; "meet me on the deck in an hour."

"For…?"

She grinned. "Training, of course."

In the palace, Katara was prevented from bending. Not as law – those had long-since been revoked by Iroh – but as simple custom. If she was seen bending, she was often mistakenly jailed. Then the man who jailed her would be beaten or harmed by those that Iroh could not control, and the mess was unbearable. So she was forbidden to bend. Especially not when it was training as a warrior – a _woman_ warrior. The war had forced Ozai to accept women in the army, but it had been unwilling. Women were gentle and harmless in the Fire Nation. And were supposed to stay that way – even when they were raised in the South Pole, where women were as strong or stronger than their male counterparts, and were expected to work as such. Perhaps not in war, but in everything else.

Zuko's lips twitched. "Of course," he said, tilting his head in a mocking bow before turning his back and walking away.

The boat ride felt like a short one. The longest span was the hours they spent sitting in still water waiting for clearance to dock – in which Zuko was blasting Katara with flames so hot that she was bending sweat _and_ salt water. She was laughing, though, the feeling of freedom so great that she never wanted to return to her new "home" nation.

The Fire Nation's main island was stifling hot all the time – and the people were crushing in their obvious opinions and beliefs. She couldn't stand it there, though she stayed to help. To help rebuild. To go on these missions so that she could feel _something_ beyond her usual restlessness. After her travels with Aang, anything short of constant excitement was tiresome. Tiresome and dull.

The islands were cooler, and she was able to let her sleeves hang loose for the first time in weeks. Zuko and the others, on the other hand, had pulled on thicker clothes, and were moaning about their fingers in the cold wind. Zuko glared at her grin, and she smacked him as she jumped down onto the dock below, catching herself with water before she hit. She landed lightly, but was forced to wait for Zuko to slowly descend the plank, complaining of cold, stiff joints all the way.

From the outer docks, they boarded an old, creaky carriage and travelled another few hours. They arrived at the river just as the sun began it's descent over the distant horizon. Looking down, Katara could see nothing. Following the river's winding path, they searched for the village that was always just a little out of reach. The sky was lit mostly by the almost-full moon when they finally spotted it.

Lanterns were winking off the moving water, and people were visible jogging to and fro on the floating docks. A small boat was quickly moving toward them, and the carriage-driver stopped the ostrich-horses and helped Katara down, though she barely touched his hand out of courtesy. Zuko chuckled behind her, closing the door.

The boat pulled up below, and she stared down. She could barely see the man's face, though she was sure she recognized it. He wore a hat that stood high above his head, only drooping at the very tip. There was virtually no hair on his head, but his beard was exactly as it had been the last time she'd seen him. "DOCK!" She yelled, waving her arms with sudden excitement.

She _did_, in fact, recognize him. He had helped Aang and the rest of the group across this very river to his home – to the little village on the Jang Hui river. Her brows wrinkled as her arms drooped; she wondered if she'd used the right name. It could be Dock or Xu or Bushi for all she knew. Of course, she thought, swiping at the cloud of confusion that filled her mind; they were all the same person, so it didn't truly matter.

Zuko was staring at her. "I've been here before," she said, shrugging.

She followed the path down to the bottom carefully, Zuko trailing behind her. The path was steep and unsteady, but they were tired and wanted the company of a living, breathing village. The trek down the easier path would take too long.

When Katara finally jumped down the last few feet, she grinned at Dock, who was squinting at her. He was trying to recognize her – a face he hadn't seen in a year. He wore nearly the same clothes he had when she'd first met him – except these were cleaner and were held together with newer patches, and his belly was less swollen. He looked healthier: happier. The end of the war had helped everyone, she thought, following him onto the boat as he chattered; even those who hadn't known they were miserable.

Katara barely listened to Dock's – as it was quickly confirmed that he _was_ Dock at that moment – words as he pushed them with his long pole across the river. This time, the pole came up clean, and Katara ran her fingers through the crisp, fresh water. She touched her fingers to her lips and smiled. This village was healthier because of her. It was a heady knowledge, that.

"We need to see the sick boy," Zuko said, pulling her out of her self-imposed trance, and making her glance over her shoulder at him. He was close to her, his knee nearly touching her back. "We're here to heal him on orders from the Fire Lord himself."

Zuko reached into his coat, as was usual, his hand shaking with cold, to pull out the official document made up by Iroh. But Dock didn't need it, and he helped the two of them onto the dock without even glancing at it. "The sick boy," he said; "His name is Lee. But you may not be able to see him tonight. He'll be in quarantine, I think."

Dock led them up the long dock, past the market, which was still in the same place, though far larger and better cared for, and up to the same house she'd been in the first time she'd visited. To cure the sick there, acting as the river's spirit – the Painted Lady.

Many more buildings had been added to the village since she'd last been there – and many were a good distance from where she stood. Several even floated in their own islands, tied to the village only by the flag waving in the wind above the tallest house – the same that waved above the old sick house. Dock stopped them outside the building, and, pushing the flaps aside, went in.

The sick house had been renewed since she was last there. There were real bamboo walls, which were clean and sun-bleached nearly white. The windows were spread wide open for air circulation. But it seemed so small compared to last time, when it had held so many sick. How many would it hold now? When they were separated and cared for with real medicines and knowledgeable treatments?

Dock slipped back out of the sick house and shook his head. "No visitors tonight," he said, and then, suddenly, switched topics: "You'll stay with my wife and me on the Southern Docks, yeah?"

Katara nodded, though she didn't look at him. Zuko spoke, though she didn't hear him. They began to walk, though Katara only followed on impulse. To be completely honest, her heart and soul were still inside the old sick house. She was bending the sweat on the sick-boy's body, trying to find his illness. Any cut or bruise. Anything out of the ordinary. But to her outward feel of him, he seemed perfectly healthy. Nothing was wrong with the dying child.

They had to cross another span of water in a second canoe, which Dock claimed was his own. His house was the second on the right. It was large, with several rooms, a bathroom of sorts, and a kitchen. His wife was cooking.

They ate quickly, and, except for Dock's occasional chattering, silently. His wife was beautiful, and was with child – young, Katara thought curiously. But when she watched the woman press her lips to Dock's aging ones, the slightest, happiest of smiles on her face, she knew they were happy together. The woman was not with him for his influence, money, or anything else. She genuinely loved Dock.

Katara fell asleep that night, just a wall separating she and Zuko, thinking about the pair of star-crossed lovers. Because that's what they were. Taboo. Wonderfully, beautifully taboo.

In the morning, Katara ate breakfast in a similar fashion as the night before. Awkwardness was nearly tangible in the room – Zuko sat without eating, his eyes never leaving the wooden table. She worried that he might catch it on fire by accident, the way he sat with his back so carefully straight and his hands gripping the edge as if he were falling and it were his only means of survival. She watched him, and he watched the table, and Dock spoke in his slow, but terribly difficult-to-understand way. His wife listened intently, as if she knew exactly what he said, even though he spoke a different language to everyone around him.

Katara wondered for a moment as Nim – which it turned out was the name of Dock's wife – collected their plates, who had worn off on whom – Dock or Nim. Dock slapped Nim's bottom as she walked by, and Katara grinned to herself. Definitely Dock, she thought, as Nim returned the favor with a kiss.

Nim's pregnant belly didn't seem to get in her way as she sauntered around the house. Katara could almost swear that she didn't notice it – except for the moments when she stopped to press against a foot or head that was uncomfortable under her ribs. She smiled at Katara as she walked by, before continuing whatever task she had been working on beforehand.

It amazed Katara – Nim's stamina. Katara couldn't imagine spending an entire day with Dock, let alone a lifetime. But Nim took it in stride, outwardly happy with her husband and their life together.

Katara shook her head as she shut the door behind herself, smiling. She wanted their life – wanted it so badly that her heart ached. Except that she would never have it. Settling down would be wonderful, but it couldn't happen. Not anymore. She would never stop moving - it was a knowledge that tore at her every moment of every day. Sitting still, holding a child in her lap, spending day in and day out doing the exact same thing – she couldn't handle that. She could barely even stand running for her life in the same fashion every day.

Zuko looked back at her, his eyebrows drawing down. "Katara?" He said, interrupting her thoughts; "Are you okay?"

She looked at him, and smiled. She was glad he had taken her from her thoughts – her terribly morbid thoughts. "Yeah," she sighed; "Fine."

He nodded and led the way to the closest canoe, which Dock had taught him to propel and steer earlier that morning. Katara smiled to herself. _"You don't need to stop," _he'd said;_ "The dock will do that for you!"_

Katara had understood the situation within the cabin the moment she'd passed by it – her bending alerting her to the two bodies within. The same two were there when she passed through the skin flap that served as a door. One – the boy-child Lee – lay as he did the previous day; still and quiet in the small bed centered in the room. Along the wall, a woman, her young face aging with sadness and worry, paced, unnoticing of Katara.

Walking up beside the boy, Katara pressed her fingers against his skin – it was hot; burning hot. A cloth was already propped against his forehead, but it was barely damp, and was room temperature at best.

Glancing up, Katara watched the woman – whom she assumed to be his mother – turn on her heel and return in the other direction. Her eyes were glazed with blatant unawareness as she turned, and Katara wondered if she was the boy's only caretaker. Because, if that was the case, she would be the reason the boy died sooner rather than later.

Pulling the boy's blanket up to his shoulders, Katara tucked it in around him, and then disappeared quickly back onto the deck.

Outside, Zuko was waiting for her. "What's happening?"

Katara looked around; "I'm not sure. He's unconscious, and his mother is in full mental shock."

As Zuko nodded and turned to leave – probably, Katara thought, to argue with the head of the town over the child's lack of care – Katara called him back. "If you find a bucket," she said, raising her eyebrows in a silent plea; "I need one. Any size will do."

"What for?"

Shrugging, Katara glanced at the building again, feeling for the boy inside. His chest heaved – alive. "Bending water," she said; "To keep close."

"Can't you bend the water through the slats in the floor?" He asked, gesturing to the dock beneath their feet – the floors inside the buildings were much the same, with obvious gaps between the planks of wood.

"I'm afraid it will weaken it. But, if you find one…"

Zuko smiled and patted her arm. "I'll bring it here."

"Don't steal it!" She snapped, as he turned to go.

He faced her long enough to frown. "Wasn't planning to."

Waving to her over his shoulder, Zuko disappeared around the corner of a building close at hand. She stood still for another moment, before turning to the water behind her – beside the sick house. Popping open her empty water pouch, Katara dragged it in, feeling through it for any unwholesome chemicals. There were so few that they didn't matter in the least.

The boy's condition was worse than Katara had ever seen, and was deteriorating on a daily basis. He was starving, unable to eat except in occasional wakeful spurts, and dehydrated – his lips were cracked and bleeding. Most of the time, unconsciousness pulled him away from Katara and her healing hands.

"We have to take him back to the Capital," Katara said, looking at Zuko as he slid into the sick house. "They must have a cure. Or… at least they can keep him alive longer than I can."

Katara never spoke like this when Lee's mother was around – but she was sleeping outside on the deck, long and hard, after days of restlessly watching her son die before her eyes. She thought it, and waited until someone she could say the words to came along. Zuko would be able to help her – Zuko could help her bring the child back to the Capital hospital, where they would help him.

Zuko shook his head. "He'll die before we reach the main island."

"He might not…"

"He will," Zuko said sternly, coming up to stand beside her and look down at the child's sunken cheeks. "You know that we can't move him."

"But if we don't do anything-!"

He glanced at her. "He'll have a better chance here, with you and his mother, than travelling across the ocean, where he's certain to die."

Katara knew he spoke the truth – but her eyes stung with frustration. She could do nothing for him. She could keep his fever down – the wet rag was kept forever at a near-freezing temperature – but that was little more than his mother could have done for him without her. "I'm not a doctor, Zuko."

"No," he moved back toward the door; "You're a healer."

He turned back to face her, his eyes curious and hungry. Zuko had spent the last two days on the island searching through the local library – located atop a nearby mountain – for a name to Lee's disease. Having found nothing, he asked her several times a day for an up-to-date list of maladies. "Any more symptoms?" He asked.

Katara nodded. "His gums started bleeding this morning. I don't know if it has to do with that exactly – but his face…"

"Is redder," Zuko finished for her, looking at Lee, who was sucking in deep, even breaths. He paused and coughed, choking momentarily, before resuming in the same pattern. He didn't wake. "Okay. I'll keep looking.

"Does it… does it sound familiar at all?"

Zuko shook his head. "I'll find it Katara. I promise."

Turning back to Lee, Katara chilled the cloth across his forehead. Zuko left quietly.

Days slipped by inside the walls of that floating death trap. Katara wanted to pick up Lee's tiny, frail body and carry him away. Back to the Fire nation where a real cure could be found. Not just a prayer to a missing spirit lady. And he consistently grew worse – one day, he only wheezed; the next, his gums bled and he choked on the blood. The last, he did neither; he lay prone, almost dead – exhausted. Pain-filled sleep tore him away from them consistently, killing him from the inside. Katara could feel it. Could feel his body losing the fight.

His mother was no better, and quickly became her second patient. She wouldn't sleep or eat without being forced. Whenever she wasn't in Lee's sick-house, Zuko was by her side, keeping her away. Feeding her. Making her stay down long enough for her exhausted body to sleep. She had been so strong for so long before Katara arrived that her falling apart was not a surprise. But it was an awful inconvenience. Katara spent half of her time healing cuts and bruises the woman inflicted upon herself escaping Zuko or falling into the river trying to jump from dock to dock to reach her son faster. She wanted to scream with frustration, but didn't. Lee needed her.

During one of her lengthier naps, Zuko sat carefully beside Lee, taking the boy's hand in his own. "I received a letter from Uncle today," he said, looking at her. Katara glanced up at him, though her hand did not pause in its path over his face and neck. They were burning hot to the touch, and she couldn't imagine how unbearable they were to Lee; "A reply."

"To the symptoms?"

Zuko nodded. When he had learned of Katara's confusion and frustration – her inability to heal the sick boy – Zuko had compiled a list of symptoms and sent them to the palace. Two days it had taken for Iroh to receive the letter, and have his scholars find whatever illness it was. So that, perhaps, he could send a cure. Or tell her how to fix him. "It's nothing good."

Katara wasn't surprised. "What does it say?"

The letter was crumpled and smeared when Zuko pulled it from his pocket – as if he'd read it again and again; as if the writer had scrawled quickly, almost illegibly, to send it as quickly as possible. "Lee has a blood disease. His… his blood is too thick. It moves too slowly and clots easily. There's no cure that the Fire Nation knows about."

He handed her the letter. Katara skimmed it quickly; curious only to why Zuko had given it to her – as its contents said only what he'd just told her. And then she reached the bottom, where there was a note in a different handwriting – a scrawl that she knew well. _Katara_, it said; _you can heal him. It's up to you._

"Iroh," she breathed, handing the note back to him.

Zuko nodded. "I don't know why we're here, Katara. But this boy must be important. And…" he paused, placing a hand on her shoulder; "And you must have the cure. Or else he wouldn't have even tried."

Katara shrugged off his hand, glaring at him. "If I had the cure," she said; "I already would have healed him. I can't heal the blood, Zuko. A flesh wound, sure. His stomach or lungs, I'm sure I could reach. But his _blood_? No. I can't do that."

This lie crumbled around her in the coming days – because she knew she could control his blood. Control it, and, perhaps, manipulate it. Thin it; heal it. She could save his life, if only she was not so afraid to allow the memories that she had kept so safeguarded back into her life. Returning to the fear and the anger that her terrible powers allowed her was not something Katara did lightly. Nor something she did willingly.

For, even with the possibility that she could save him, Katara couldn't make herself do it. Couldn't do more than reach for the power, and then draw back. From fear of failure or success – either as terrible as the other. If she failed, Lee died. If she succeeded, then she would have to face the reality that, perhaps, the power that seemed so cruel to her, might be something good. Something worth testing – something Zuko might convince her to experiment with.

Shaking her head, Katara watched as Zuko walked slowly into the river, along the outer banks, his arms filled with Lee's fragile body. This was her last hope – surrounding the boy in her healing waters. Perhaps she could reach far enough into him to heal him. Perhaps she could heal his every ailment.

"If I pass out," Katara said, looking between Dock – who stood beside her – and Zuko; "and Lee isn't awake, take him out of the water. Dry him off and put him back in bed. Do everything you can to wake me up."

Zuko nodded stiffly, but Dock seemed less sure. "You might pass out?"

Before Katara could, Zuko answered, knowing the answer as well as she did. "It takes a certain amount of Katara's strength to heal using water. The river is natural, and so will be more manageable, but it is still not easy. It drains her. I've seen her heal this way many times, and she doesn't faint often. But this…" he looked at Lee; "is different. Lee's injuries are different than the others. His are more than skin deep."

Dock, his eyes still squinted with confusion, said; "Okay. I'll make sure you don't fall in or something."

Katara smiled, and stepped into the river. She waded in until her hands pressed against Lee's body. Breathing deeply, and staring into Zuko's worried face, she delved deep, and, pushing her powers past the capacity of her body, she began to heal the water around Lee. Her hands shifted around his skin; over the horizon of his chest and face. But she couldn't bring the water past his skin.

With a grunt of frustration, she returned to her sweat-drenched body, cursing. "I can't get past his skin!" she groaned, running her wet hands down her face; "How can I heal his blood if I can't get past his skin?"

Zuko reached for her, comfort on his fingertips. He ran his hand down her arm, up her shoulder, to her neck. He gripped her there, and watched her carefully. "You can do this, Katara," he said; "I know you can. You're a master waterbender."

"I don't need to be a master waterbender," she whispered, tears filling her eyes; "I need to be a master _bloodbender_."

Katara didn't give him a moment's pause – did not want to see the worry that would cloud his eyes, or the confusion that she knew would have to be explained away later. Now was not the time to worry.

Stepping forward, she reached for Lee again – pushing her power toward his body as she wrapped her fingers around one of his hands. The water glowed, and yet Katara knew he did not heal. She could feel the blood in his body pushing against his veins, hard-pressed to move fast enough to keep him alive. She pushed the water against his skin, and reached for his heart. But it was as if she tried to force her hands through his skin – the water only skittered across the surface. Again and again she tried – around his wrists, stomach, chest. Pushing against the skin that was stronger than her ability. Stronger than the healing water that she wanted so terribly to make a difference. She reached deeper than she ever had before – pushing so hard into his body that she felt something give way. Felt a barrier break, as if the water had passed through his pores – gotten closer to her destination. Elation grabbed her, and she kept forcing her way in. Because she had to – she had to save Lee.

In such a trance, Katara did not see the black dots before they completely clouded her eyes. Pushed away the red of sunlight through her eyelids – a shadow, she thought. And then her fingers loosened suddenly from around Lee's hand, and the glow faded, and she slid under the cool water, unconscious to the world.

* * *

Authors Note:

Thanks for reading! Reviews are encouraged and loved!


	2. Chapter 2

When Katara awoke, she did not open her eyes – she only listened to the dull thrum of voices around her. Some were angry and loud; others calm and quiet; but they mattered little. The silent man in the room – the one that, she thought, was the pressure against her hand – was the only one she wanted. The only voice she needed to hear. But he was quiet and perfectly still; as if she held onto a warm statue.

Slowly, the voices began to process in her mind, and she knew what they spoke of. Her.

"She brought him to the water!" A man yelled, and Katara had to force herself not to flinch. Her head began to throb – but she did not want to disturb the argument and lose her chance to learn something. She relaxed again, and the hand in hers clenched and unclenched quickly. Zuko knew. "Who else is to blame?"

Katara recognized the second voice as Dock's: "He is awake, is he not? She did him no harm!"

"Harm? She has brought _turmoil_ to our home! False hope."

"Is argument not worth the life of the child?" Zuko spoke up, his hand leaving hers – which felt suddenly cold. She clenched it into a fist.

The man whom Katara could still not place a name to, returned: "She cannot save him! That has been proven time and time again! I believe the moment has come for preparations to be made." His voice was final, in a way that Katara had only ever heard her father speak – no one would argue with him. "You and your magic healer will leave on the next canoe to land. Make your arrangements."

A chair scraped back, and heavy footfalls walked away from her and Zuko – whose heat she could feel radiating from his angry body beside her.

_Times up._

"Uhh," Katara fake-moaned, hoping to dull Zuko's anger, and force him back to her side so that he didn't strangle or burn the man, though she suspected he would attempt to do both. But when a different hand pressed into hers – Dock's – she said, a little clearer; "Zuko…"

And then he was on her other side, staring down at her with narrowed, irritable eyes. He knew the trick she'd pulled. Dock never would have let him stay away from her after she said his name – so he'd come of his own volition. "Katara," he said, sitting beside her. She felt the bed dip, and she opened her eyes a sliver.

She didn't know where they were – but it seemed to be a room that beds rarely visited. An enormous table was pushed against one wall, along with the many chairs that would – presumably – be around it on a regular day. At the front of the room, by a wide set of double doors, sat a man – young in stature and appearance, but aged in the wisdom that surrounded him. The voice, she thought, must belong to him. He seemed quite in charge. She sat up slowly, letting Zuko help her, and looked at him through narrowed eyes. "Where am I?" She asked him.

Zuko jerked under her back, and she elbowed him in the ribs. "This is Jang Hui's War Hall."

"And why," she continued, ignoring the heat of Zuko's breath against her neck. He was furious with her – she asked a stranger the questions that were usually directed toward him. That, and the man seemed to be letting her under his skin, in a way Zuko was unable to do. Smirking at him would be a mistake, though she truly wanted to. "Are you meeting with a sick woman in a War Hall?"

His hands were clenched together atop his desk. "You, miss, are here only under obligation. Your words have no effect on this court's decisions."

"And what of the Fire Prince? Would he have any say in your court?"

The man laughed, a deep, booming sound that seemed to vibrate the entire room. "It is a doomed argument, child. The Fire Prince is not here to argue your case for you. Now, leave. Pack your things and be gone. I am finished here."

Zuko had frozen, his entire body still as stone. He was watching her, staring at the side of her face, as if he could force words into her mind. He tried to tell her something – but she didn't want to hear it, even if she knew what he wanted. "You're wrong," she said, looking at Zuko instead of the man.

"Excuse me?"

She glanced up at him. "You're wrong. That the Fire Prince isn't here."

Looking about, the man's smirk was that of a cornered animal – tense and suddenly unsure. "There are only four people within this building. Myself, Dock, you, and your lowly consort."

Zuko, suddenly awaking from his self-imposed trance, stood. Fire streamed from his nostrils, and his eyes were wide and angry. Hands clenched into fists, he stood tall, his back perfectly straight. The posture was that of a man born into power – it was a costume she hadn't seen him wear since they left the Palace. And one that was sad to see once again. "You will regret your words if you do not watch your tongue, General," he said, fury strong in his voice.

The man's eyes narrowed. "Who are you to speak to me that way?"

Zuko reached into the pocket of his coat, and pulled out the shimmering gold ornament. He pulled his hair up, and messily shoved it atop his head. "To not know your own Prince, and yet call yourself a political leader in the Fire Nation would have been treason, should my father still have been in power. But you are lucky – my Uncle is a much kinder man."

Zuko did not seem capable to speak any more – anger fueled his movements as he stormed toward the man, who seemed much smaller than a moment ago. He fell to his knees beside his great desk, which itself towered over him, and kissed the floor at Zuko's feet. "Forgive me, Lord," he said; "I did not know it was you!"

"Obviously," Zuko spat, and then knelt down beside him. He lifted the man by the scruff of his shirt, and held his face close. His next words were quieter, but still quite loud enough for everyone in the room to hear; "I do not want to see so much as the tip of your boot for the rest of the time the lady and I remain on this floating piece of crap you call a village. If you disobey my words, I will strip you of your title – that is a right that I hold; do not doubt me."

Pushing the man back, Zuko stood violently fast. His anger had dimmed, but his indignation had not. "We will stay until we are damned ready to leave. Remember that."

Turning on his heel, Zuko walked back to Katara. She watched him apologetically, but he didn't as much as glance at her face. He stepped to the front of the bed, as if to push her from the room. But it was unnecessary. She flung her legs over the side, and let him help her stand. Her head spun and ached, but she was able to walk from the room – out into the open.

"How many times do we have to go over this?" Zuko hissed as the door shut behind them, leaving Dock and the brow-beaten man inside; "You do not give away my identity!"

Katara rolled her eyes. "It was the best way to let us stay here. Can't you just accept that?"

"No!"

Sighing, she stopped walking. "I'm sorry," she said, looking up at him. Finally, he looked into her face, and saw that she wasn't being sarcastic or mean-spirited. She was perfectly serious. "I was being selfish. I didn't want to leave Lee behind. I didn't even think about how you'd feel."

"Figures," he said; "Already attached to the patient."

Smiling, she leaned into him again, needing his support. "Did you know that I met Lee before?"

"Really?"

She nodded against his shoulder. "When I was travelling with Aang. I pretended to be their Painted Lady."

Laughing, Katara told him the story, from beginning to end, finishing just as they arrived back at Dock's home, where she could rest and heal from that day's adventures. "Goodnight, Katara," Zuko said, slowly closing the door to her room.

"Goodnight, Fire Prince," Katara breathed into the cool night air.

Over that night, the entire village seemed to learn of Zuko's heritage. The moment they stepped out the door, a woman was kneeling on the docks, her forehead pressed against the wood, a child clutched to her chest. The child whimpered, and Zuko stumbled backward a step.

"Miss," Katara said, kneeling beside her and pressing a hand into her shoulder; "that is unnecessary. Stand." The woman lifted her face to stare at Katara, and then at Zuko – she didn't shift. "_Please_."

The child's cry brought her back to her feet – where she stood, staring at Zuko fixatedly. "Leave," Zuko grunted, glaring at her feet. The woman scampered away, and Katara frowned at him.

"That was rude," she said, climbing into the canoe.

He followed after her, shoving it away from the dock. "This is why," he said, handing her a paddle; "I didn't want them to know."

With a sigh, Katara swept the paddle through the water. Every day, the island seemed closer – as if they were drifting toward it. Zuko said it was simply her view – that she was so used to the distance, that it was growing shorter in her mind's eye. "They would have figured it out eventually, anyway," she said after a long pause.

"How?" He asked, glaring.

She turned to stare at him pointedly. It was truly obvious that he was the Fire Prince, if the people in this village saw scrolls or news articles at any point in time. "The only reason they _didn't_ already know," she continued; "Is because the merchants are on the main island. _They_ would know your face."

Zuko's grimace fell away, but he didn't reach up to touch the scar of which he knew she was speaking. Instead, he stared into the distance, his face pensive. Thinking. She turned back around, and paddled harder, ready to be off the spirits-forsaken boat. The ride suddenly felt several miles long.

When they reached shore, Katara realized Zuko hadn't been staring into the distance. His eyes hadn't moved from a fixed spot – a dock, jutting out away from all the others. On the end, a small building stood, looking exactly like the others. Katara saw it every day, but not like this – not in such an unusual state. People were milling about the docks, gripping and leaning into one another. No one went in, however.

Katara watched the people as Zuko pulled the canoe up onto the dock they stood on – watched, until she finally understood. It wasn't just _some_ building; it was the sick house. In which Lee was clinging to life.

Or not.

Her feet were moving before she realized she had to run – before she realized what was happening. People never came near the sick house. It was quarantine; it was so far from the other homes and shops that people never glanced at it. The buildings surrounding it were other sick houses, filled with the injured and curably ill. No one went inside that wasn't simply visiting – hoards of people _never_ visited the sick. Let alone the boy in quarantine.

Zuko yelled after her, but she ignored him – barely heard him. She shoved through the crowd, elbowing people out of her way, not even glancing away from the open flap – open. No longer quarantined.

As she passed through the doorway, the air seemed to shift; to become something _else_. She gasped and coughed. Looked behind her – the door was gone; the sobbing people were gone. She was alone in a great black space.

_Save him_, something whispered, a wind shifting the still air around her; _Or else._

Voices boomed in her eardrums, so loud that she threw her hands over her ears, her eyes clenching shut. Someone said her name, but she didn't know who, and they were so loud. So horribly loud.

_Save him…_

She looked up. Lee's mother – her face wet with tears – was watching her. "He's…" she started, and then, choking, put a hand over her mouth.

Katara shook her head, denial fresh on her lips. She hadn't been there last night – but he had _woken up._ She had slept well, knowing that he had at least one more day; that he wouldn't die after opening his eyes, with or without her.

She stumbled to his side, and gripped his hand in hers. She concentrated, pulled water through the slats in the floor – the tub of water usually kept within reach had been removed – and pressed it against Lee. He didn't shift. Didn't breathe. She pushed it against him – tried to force it to help him. But she couldn't. It didn't even glow. He was still warm beneath her fingers, but was cooling quickly. Cooling like a man dead.

The water slipped from her fingers, exhaustion seeping in. _Too much_, she thought, closing her eyes again, _too quick._

Zuko was behind her, his hands gripping her shoulders, trying to pull her up. Others figures came into the house, and then left. They had no business there – they were related to neither child nor mother. And it was only awkward to be around them – the dead child, the mourning mother, and the half-crazy bender.

Katara opened her eyes, and the floor shifted beneath them.

There was a loud _CRACK!_ and a scream. The entire building jolted; Lee's bed darted across the room and slammed into the opposite wall – the body, with the sheets still tightly wrapped around it, flew up, and then back down, landing crookedly back on the bed. Zuko had let go of her, and was standing against the wall by the doorway; his eyes were wide, and his body still. Katara glanced at him, but her eyes slid to the doorway – drawn there by the violent waves that pounded against the house. The waves that could be seen only where a dock once stood. The building had moved away from the dock; broken off. People were being pulled from the water below, even as the building was still rocking on the waves, barely held up by the unsteady stilts.

"We've got to get out of here!" Zuko yelled, returning to himself. He was staring at Katara, panic clear in his eyes. Lee's mother was beside her son, clutching his body to her chest. Zuko ran to her, pulled at her, tried to force her away. But she didn't move – refused to release the child's dead body. Zuko grunted with frustration as he tried to pry her hands from his body – but it mattered little. She would not shift.

The balance of the building was thrown off, and the corner slammed into the water below, flinging everyone against the wall, and beginning to sink. Zuko and Katara – immediately and from trained instinct – climbed through the closest openings. The windows; which were still wide open.

Zuko swam away – Katara watched him as he neared the dock. But she didn't. She yelled for Lee's mother, screaming her name, praying to the spirits that she would hear, and would come out.

But there was little hope in that. The building was sinking like a water-logged boat, even the bamboo shafts filling with water. She could feel it – could sense every detail. She could even feel the bodies – Lee's and his mother's – being tossed about inside, every time they touched the water.

"Katara!" Zuko yelled, pausing to look back at her; "Come on! We have to get out of here! Don't be stupid!"

What he spoke of, Katara knew would come. As the house sunk further and further – it engulfed the bed, and the two people within – she knew what she had to do. She had to save them – even if they weren't alive. Their bodies, as much as their living hearts, mattered.

She couldn't let Lee be crushed by the sinking house – couldn't let his final demise be tarnished by the crush of water against earth.

Hands were grasping and pulling at Zuko – forcing him bodily from the river, even as he fought to come after her – either to help or impede, Katara didn't know, or care. They seemed hurried; not because it hadn't happened before; not because they were panicked – but because of the title she had so ignorantly given them. They would not let the Fire Prince die - not even to save two of their own.

Katara could _feel_ the pull of the sinking home beginning in the water. She felt it pulling her down – and she knew she could stop it for herself. It was instinct, to pull the water into a calmed bubble around her; to stop it from taking control. But that was not what she did. Instead, she relaxed, and let it take her. Let it have all of the control for once – a very, very dangerous choice, as Pakku – her old instructor – would have scolded.

Through the water, she could barely see the house, let alone the child's body inside. But she could feel it; feel the water pummeling against it. He was still within the wooden trap, attached somehow to the heavy metal bed. His mother's body was limp somewhere above him, bumping into the ceiling. The water pushed and pulled at it, and it didn't fight back. Dead, Katara knew in the back of her mind, but didn't truly think it. If she had, sorrow would have filled her, and she wouldn't have been able to accomplish what she had to do.

Swimming bodily toward the bottom – exhaustion refusing her the power to bend in such a way – she was pulled down with the current. Lee's body wouldn't be harmed by the water – inside, it was shifting and moving like waves. Softer than that of outside. He was safer there. But not for long. The house would hit the bottom at a speed that would crush it. And him.

Very little went through her mind as she darted toward the bottom – toward the doorway, whose flapping door was like a flag – and Lee. She couldn't let him die. Couldn't let him be sucked away by the streaming water, not when his struggling body let her know that he was terrified – and alive.

_Alive._

Katara had never felt so relieved in her life – had never felt so afraid. His life – in a way that it hadn't seemed to before – rested solely in her hands. He had died, and had come back. Had given her a second chance. A chance that, she thought, she couldn't pass up. Not now. Not even when bending the water faster behind her feet, pushing her quicker toward him, made her head spin. She was exhausted – utterly drained.

But he couldn't wait, and she wouldn't make him. She pushed past the door, tearing the cloth away as she went through, and darted toward the bed. Her hands were shaking as she pulled at the bed, Lee's tiny arms clinging to hers. He was losing strength – whatever strength he had so magically acquired – and wouldn't be able to hold on to her for long.

Pausing long enough to think, Katara reached for the metal bedstead, and felt until she found the end that was stuck. She pulled it free, and, wrapping her arms around Lee, tore him away from the sinking bed – and house.

She shoved him first through the door, bending with whatever strength she could muster, the water beneath him. He shot toward the surface, his eyes wide, and his body shifting in a very _alive_ way.

As Katara watched him, eyes clouding. She shut them slowly, and let the water pull her up on its own – it would help her, she thought – the water that she knew and loved. The water that was more than hers to control; the water that was her very companion in life. But when she lifted her lids again, she wasn't closer to the surface. She was still within the house – she had sunk _lower_. So low that she could see Lee's mother's body bumping against the corner of the ceiling. She watched the woman, her face still contorted into a mask of horrified sadness. As if she was still crying in death.

Katara's lungs burned, but she felt no compulsion to pull herself from the building – to force herself to the surface. She wanted someone to help her. Wanted someone to wrap their arms around her and kick their way up. Wanted Zuko. Wanted help.

The corner of the building hit the bottom first. Katara shifted in the water with it, doorframe hitting her body with a crushing force. Something cracked, but the pain was little, and her eyes were closed. She was surprisingly calm. Her head fell back in the water, and she accepted it into herself. Her friend would save her, with or without her permission.

Blackness crowded in her vision – either death or shadow, she didn't know or care. Both would come soon, and she was finished.

Fear opened her mouth in a half-hearted wail, of which ended everything. Her friend betrayed her in that moment; because, even a waterbender's lungs are not made to hold water…

* * *

Author's Note:

A few things:

1. As a general rule, I will try to update about once a week. My schedule – as a senior in high school – is a little unpredictable. This story is_ not_ my top priority.

2. Every chapter will be about this length. 8 to 14 Word pages.

3. I'm actively looking for a Beta to review _Returning the Favor._


	3. Chapter 3

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS VIOLENCE AND EXPLICIT GORE/VIOLENT DESCRIPTIONS. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

* * *

The water burned like swallowed fire in Katara's throat. Her arms seemed to die first, and then her legs. Her eyelids lowered against the light that grew to be suddenly too bright. Every muscle relaxed, and she tumbled backward.

And collided with the earth.

Katara took a deep breath of something other than air, her body suddenly unclothed, but dry. Her hair was tied back tightly against her scalp, and she was laying on a sandy surface. Like a beach, except clean and pure.

_Katara…_

Lifting her head, Katara looked around. She felt no embarrassment for her nakedness. It seemed only natural in this place, to be free of any restraint. "Who are you?"

_You know who I am._

Shaking her head, Katara stood. "I don't. Tell me. Please."

The space around her shifted, becoming something more tangible. She breathed in, comforted by the new-found reminder of home. It was air. Oxygen. In the corner of her eye, it shifted again. A woman appeared.

She wore a long white robe, a wide hat, and painted designs on her face and shoulders in what looked, startlingly, like blood. A smile appeared on Katara's face. "Painted Lady," she said.

Katara had become the Painted Lady once, to help the people of the Jang Hui river over a year ago. She had dressed and played the part well, and this spirit had thanked her for it. But now, the Lady did not wear a kind face. She was angry.

_How dare you let the boy-child die?_ Her lips did not move. She spoke, still, in Katara's mind alone.

"Lee? I didn't mean…" Her mind flashed, and she remembered his shifting, struggling, body. "He didn't die! I left him alive!"

_You failed in your task._

Katara lowered her eyes, and blinked back tears for the child. "He died?"

_No._

"Then why are you angry?"

_You did not save him. I did. When he drowned, I revived him. I should not have had to do so._

Katara didn't understand. "Why do you care about him so much?"

The Painted Lady ignored her question: _You had the ability to protect him. But you did not. You allowed him to die._

"It was not my doing!"

_It was. And now you shall pay the consequences._

"What? No! I did nothing wrong!"

_Your destiny is not over, waterbender_. _You must learn to use your most important gift._

Katara felt the sand shift beneath her, and begin to slide away. It seemed to swirl under her feet, like quicksand, pulling her down. "Where am I going?"

_I am returning you to life. Use it wisely this time._

Yelling out one last time, Katara was sucked into the sand, and fell suddenly unconscious.

The feeling against her skin was foreign, as if she was lying in a pool of water - that wasn't water. Something was wrong. Her shirt and pants clung to her skin, and her hair was cold against her neck, shifting as if blown by the wind. Pain wrapped around her limbs in coils, tight and horrible. Every move she made sent jolts of it up and into her chest. Her heart sped, and stopped. Again and again.

Opening her eyes, Katara found herself staring into a light blue sky. It was a clear day, and the sun was lowering toward the mountainous horizon. Looking to the extremes of her sight, Katara could see red apple trees to her left, and tall grass stalks to her right.

She didn't recognize any of it, and could not see in what she was laying. Closing her eyes, Katara fell asleep.

When she woke again, there was a shadow over her face, blocking the orange light of setting sun. The shadow grew closer, until it leaned over her. An old woman.

"Are you alright, dear?" The woman asked, her hand pressing down against Katara's shoulder. When Katara winced, she pulled away. "What is your name?"

Katara opened her mouth to speak, found that it wasn't too painful, and gave her name.

The woman nodded, and took her hand. This hurt less, though was still painful. Her eyes glazed. "My name is Elda." She paused, tugging carefully on Katara's hand, "You'll freeze tonight if I leave you here. It will hurt, Katara, but I must pull you from the water."

"Where am I?" Katara breathed.

Elda stepped for a moment away from Katara, before replying distractedly: "You're in the town of Ning Chuan, meaning 'Peaceful Stream.' The stream after which the town was named is the one you now lay in."

Returning to Katara's side, a child stood beside Elda. He was young, and wore no shoes; only a long tunic and torn shorts. His face was tired – too tired for that of a child. Reaching down, the boy grabbed under one of Katara's arms, and Elda gripped the other. They pulled her from the water.

Or so they told her. The moment the child touched her, Katara's mind fell into blackness.

One of Elda's three daughters sat beside the bed Katara woke in. The boy – this woman's son – was lying at the end of this bed, fast asleep. Her limbs felt lighter than they had before, and she was stripped naked beneath the layers of covers.

The woman, who had high cheek bones and a wide nose, just like her elderly mother, stood immediately to pluck the heavy cloth from Katara's forehead. "Good morning," she said, brushing hair away from Katara's face. "Do you feel any better?"

Clenching and unclenching her fist, Katara nodded. Much better. She remembered little of how she arrived at Elda's house. Only snippets of awareness: a large man had clutched her to his chest, grunting angrily every so often. She wondered if it was because of her weight. The bed was hard, and she woke up in pain. She had a fever. She spoke of the Painted Lady, of Zuko, of the boy. She told them she was a water bender. They told her she had a dangerous ability, but they could not describe it. The boy laid down beside her, tucked into her armpit. He slept there. Perhaps she was in his bed. Elda worked at the neighboring farm. Too many people lived in this small house. There were eight children, four adults, and Elda. All living there so the men and women could work at the farm, and the youngest daughter – who had been born with some kind of impairment – could stay home and care for all of the children together.

Sometimes, they spoke to her while they thought she was asleep, or unconscious. They complained about each other, their work, their children. Elda's oldest daughter rarely spoke, but when she did it was to mourn the death of her husband, and to wish she had loved him the way her mother had loved her father before his death. Her name was Kenta, and her son's name was Mao. They were a kind and happy family, and the boy only spoke of happy things to Katara. He told her about the birds nest that had been created in their personal apple tree in the yard, and how the eggs had just been laid. He could see them from the roof, and would watch until they hatched and flew away. He told her about how he desperately wanted to go to school, but how they couldn't afford the ostrich-horse fee for him to get there. In a small town such as this, he would have to take a single ostrich-horse every day, and that was an expensive trip. He told her how bored he was, and how he wished she would wake up so she could talk back to him.

One day, in the middle of one conversation with him, the door slammed open. Unable to resist, Katara opened one eyelid to look. It was a large man with surly black eyebrows and a receding hairline. His shirt was fine and tailored, but his pants were clearly made for work – stained and bloodied in some places. He stormed into the room and grabbed the boy with his meaty hand. "Where is she?" He roared.

"Who, My Lord?"

Katara blanched. She had thought, for certain, that this family worked for the farm next door. Were they servants with the right to live on the edge of their land?

"Your grandmother, you fool! Where has she gone?"

_Elda._

The boy was shaking. Shivering from his head to his toes. "I don't know! I thought she was at work!"

The man threw Mao to the side, roaring incoherently. Suddenly, a figure appeared in the doorway. It was Kenta. Behind her, Elda. They were not at work. What ever they had been doing, it had been dirty. Their hands were covered in a sticky, shiney slime, and their knees were covered in dirt. The man whipped around, grabbed Kenta, and threw her against the door. She gasped and clutched it, trying to hold herself up. When her balance returned, she darted into the room to clutch Mao to her side. He was crying. She was trying to hide her own tears.

Grabbing Elda around the throat, the man shook her. "_What have you done with my merchandise_?"

Elda held her head higher, and stared into his eyes. Her only physical reaction to his grip was her hands, pushing uselessly against his chest. "I have done nothing with your precious apples, my lord. Perhaps it was another servant family? You do have so many."

He threw her back, and she landed with a _CRACK_ on her backside. She howled with pain, and he reared forward to attack her again. He pulled his foot back, and then stopped.

Katara sat up in bed, her hand reaching out to him. She wanted to stop him. It was her only thought. To stop this man from hurting Elda, who had done no harm to him. To stop this man from hurting the only woman who would have been kind enough to pluck her from wherever she had landed, take her into her home, and nurse her back to health. This man did not deserve to lay a finger on Elda. No man did.

Exhaustion struck Katara like a blow as the man toppled. He toppled down upon Elda, across her stretched out lap. But she did not notice. She slid back to lay on the floor as well. As Katara fell back into bed, she saw in the corner of her eye, as Mao stared at her, his eyes filled with fear and betrayal. He and his mother toppled together to the ground.

Her heart thundered when Katara next awoke. She felt stronger: her muscles having finally relaxed; her belly seemingly full of uneaten food; her eyes wide and observant.

Somehow, she knew this was the Painted Lady's doing.

A pressure alerted Katara to the first body against her arm. It was the boy; his hand laid across her arm, his hand entwined in the blanket, as if he had gripped her, and died gripping her. As if he had tried to waken her; tried to stop her. Gasping, Katara pushed his arm away. It _clump_ed against the ground beside his body. She did not look.

Beside the end of the bed, Katara found Mao's mother, Kenta. By the door, Elda laid. Beside her, there was a bloody mess. The man who had been attacking her looked as if he had exploded. His blood was smeared across the walls, the floors, and Elda's legs. His skin was split in places, where it had broken to release the violent liquid within. His eyes were gone, replaced with red emptiness. He no longer looked human, and Katara knew that she had done this. She had done all of this.

_You had the ability to protect him, _The Painted Lady had said: _You must learn to use your most important gift._

Bloodbending.

Heaving, Katara darted out of the room. In the hallway, two more women were sprawled on the floor. One clutched a baby to her chest. Elda's other daughters. The child. Katara reached down to touch it. Perhaps, even in her half-mad state, Katara had allowed this child to survive. She cried out, aloud, when she found that it had not.

Katara didn't know the layout of this house. But it was small, and easy to navigate. Through the kitchen – one more man – into the living room – a teenage boy – and through the solid wood door. Outside, there was a group of foreign-looking men lying all in a pile. They had darker skin than the men and women inside. They weren't Fire Nation natives. Earth Kingdom? _Water Tribe?_

Shaking her head and wiping the tears suddenly from her eyes and cheeks, Katara flew past them. She felt with her bending, searching for water. For comfort. There was a lake or puddle less than a mile outside of the town. She ran toward it, straight toward it, darting around trees and tall grass. Slowly, clumsily. Reaching with her hand and her mind, Katara drew a piece of this water toward herself. It was heavy and unnatural-feeling. But it was water.

And then a creature, small and lined with fur, came flying toward her through the air. She ducked, and it flew past her. It died against the tree that stood behind her. Gasping, Katara dropped to her knees. She groped with her bending for the trees around her, but felt nothing. The only thing she could feel was the thickening blood of the mouse-squirrel behind her, and the brood of its terrified children a few feet ahead of her. They would starve. She had killed them.

How had she lost her bending? Was this the _consequences_ the Painted Lady had warned her about? Was she only a bloodbender now?

_"ZUKO!"_

* * *

Author's Note:

This is a long-overdue third chapter. I apologize for the gore and violence, but I deemed it necessary for the story's development. I rated it T, and left a warning at the top.

Thank you for reading, and please REVIEW!


End file.
